


Intertwined

by ruinofsilver



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Rey, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben is a lost prince, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Dyad (Star Wars), Force Healing, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Partners to Lovers, Redeemed Ben Solo, References to the Mandalorian, Rey Needs A Hug, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Rey/Kylo Ren, Soft Ben Solo, Strangers to Lovers, Together they are a dyad of dumb dumbs, rey is a nobody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinofsilver/pseuds/ruinofsilver
Summary: He's been living in a pure illusion.  She's got to come to her own conclusions.A Tangled-inspired story featuring a scavenger-turned-bounty hunter with no family, and a lost prince of Alderaan with a chip on his shoulder.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. The Voice

****

**12 ABY**

Chandrila’s moon is a silver sickle, so thin as to be almost invisible. It emits a faint glow in the inky blackness of the night sky, straining to be seen amidst the darkness. The lights of Hanna City flicker boldly on the horizon, drowning out the stars.

A gentle breeze wafts through the sheer curtains of the Organa-Solo bedchamber, brushing cool fingers over the skin of Leia’s cheek. Her eyes are open, staring at the glittering pinpoints of the cityscape, but her mind is elsewhere. She’s well aware of the empty space in the bed beside her, and, despite her resistance, her thoughts drift to the man who normally occupies that space. The man who has placed himself in exile on the green divan in the west wing for the night. Although, Leia has to admit ruefully, she is partially responsible for her husband’s distance this time.

_Oh Han, what’s happening to us?_

It isn’t as simple as not being in love anymore. The Force knows that, even after six years of marriage, no one can make Leia’s heart skip a beat like Han does, or make her laugh until her sides ache. But they’re both so stubborn, different in more ways than not, and too bull-headed to admit it when things are going well. Things had not gone so well tonight.

There had been a row. Not about the old, tired things that usually caused them to clash. It had been about Ben. There had been a growing concern for their sensitive, dark-haired son, and his rapidly blooming powers in the Force. Powers that both parents felt ill-equipped to handle as the boy got older. Han, with his blunt practicality and unfamiliarity regarding what he referred to as “mumbo-jumbo”. Leia, with her limited training in its power and her dedication to the New Republic.

_“He’s_ seven _, Leia,”_ Han had said, waving a hand dismissively.

_“_ Exactly _, Han! A seven-year-old has no business on the Kessel Run and getting tangled up with those unsavoury people you call friends.”_

_“He’s plenty old enough! Chewie can come along too. Nobody’ll bother us with him around.”_

_“Believe me, I have_ no _concerns about Chewie. It’s_ you _I’m worried about.”_

_“What-”_

_“Han, you’re too reckless for your own good! It was one thing when it was just_ us _to worry about, but now there’s_ Ben _, too.”_ Leia’s voice had tapered off to a whisper then, but her words were strained, as though she was struggling to breathe. _“If something happened to him, I don’t-”_

_“That’s just it - nothing_ ever _happens to him! He’s going stir-crazy, locked up in this gilded cage like an ornamental bird, learning useless crap like how to hold a spoon-”_

_“He’s a senator’s son, Han! If you were around more, you’d understand a lot more of what goes on around here. And if you think that using a_ spoon _is a useless skill-”_

_“Kriff, you_ know _that’s not what I meant! But maybe it’s time for Ben to do stuff with his father for once! He hasn’t been on any trips with me since we took him to Kashyyyk last summer. And you know how much he wants to be a pilot-”_

_“Well, we’ve got to consider his powers too, Han. Again, if you were here more, you’d see-”_

_“Oh, I’ve seen_ plenty _, your worshipfulness!”_ Han had sneered. _“I see a kid who needs to get out there into the_ real _world. Rub his nose in the dirt for once. All that pent-up energy - it’s destructive!”_

_“Don’t even go there, Han! His powers are strong, but I’m handling it the best I can. Making him feel guilty won’t help him to control them.”_

_“It’s not about guilt! It’s about letting the boy_ live _for once!”_

_“You’re_ afraid _of him, Han. You’re afraid because you don’t understand him_ because you're never here!”

More words had been flung back and forth, until at last the faint sound of a small boy’s feet skittering away from the closed door behind them had given them enough awareness to stop before the name-calling started in earnest. They always tried to keep their voices down when arguing, hidden away behind closed doors, but Ben always seemed to find out. So perceptive and observant, even before his powers had really started to manifest. Ben always seemed to know if there was tension between them, no matter how much they tried to conceal it. As though their emotions roiled off them like smoke, bitter and suffocating.

Sometimes, Leia wishes she had more of Ben’s powers of awareness. It would certainly be an asset when dealing with her peers in the Galactic Senate.

She shifts her position slightly on the plush mattress, stretching a hand out to rest on the Han-shaped divot beside her. After sensing Ben listening outside the door, the argument had come to an end, and even though each had mumbled an apology to the other, Han had disappeared into the west wing, leaving Leia to retire alone. 

Taking her long chestnut hair out of its coiled braid by herself had felt odd, given the circumstances. Although it was true that Han often spent time away on missions, there was a pang in her chest to think that her husband was in another part of the house instead of here with her. Whenever he was here, Han would always unravel her hair for her in accordance with the customs of her Alderaanian heritage. And when morning came, he would painstakingly re-braid it, grumbling softly whenever his fingers lost their grip. Leia had been a good teacher, and Han a quick learner, in the early days of their marriage. There is a small swell of pride, even now, as she remembers that her husband, the roughened Corellian smuggler, is adept at no less than twenty-seven different styles, each one a language of its own.

Leia heaves a sigh before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and making her way to the balcony, the breeze playing with her loose robe. She wraps her arms around her, shivering slightly, although she is not cold.

_We’ll make things right tomorrow,_ she tells herself. _We always do. The light of dawn always brings a new beginning._

But the light of dawn is still a long way off.

Leia has half a mind to head to the west wing to see if Han is awake, when a faint cry cuts through the passage of her thoughts.

_Ben!_

Hurrying down the corridor with her skirts swishing behind her, the cries grow louder, more insistent. 

“No, no, no! Mom! Dad! Don’t!-”

When Leia flings open the door to Ben’s bedchamber, she can make out the faint outline of her son’s body, tossing and turning on the bed, his sheets tangled around him. He’s tall for his age, and in need of a longer bed, but right now he looks small and vulnerable in the darkness as he whimpers in his sleep.

_A nightmare..._

The Force is boiling with sinister energy around Ben, even in sleep, and as Leia slams on the bedside lamp she can see that his cheeks are wet with tears. She lays a hand on his head, stroking his tangled hair, silently begging for the storm in her son to end.

There is one last shudder through the Force, and Ben’s entire body tenses, as though he is frozen in fear. Leia pulls his slight body into her arms, rocking him gently back and forth. Tears spring to her own eyes in silent sympathy for her son’s suffering. She begins to softly hum a lilting melody, a bygone relic from her own childhood. The tension in Ben’s limbs begins to loosen, and at last, with a gasping breath, his eyes snap open, locking with hers. 

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” Leia murmurs gently, brushing sweat-dampened locks from his forehead. Ben begins to sob, flinging skinny arms around her neck, babbling incoherently as fresh tears soak through the silken fabric of her robe. 

“Mom, I was so scared! Y-you were gone… so was Dad - I tried to find you, but I… I couldn’t. The Voice said - ”

“What voice?”

Ben freezes, a sob caught in his throat, eyes wide with fear, as though he is reliving a part of the nightmare he would rather forget.

“The Voice in my dream. It said bad things, Mom. It told me that you and Dad had left me. That you left _because_ of me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that could never happen. Dad and I love you so much. We would _never_ leave you.”

Ben is weeping again, but his sobs are quieter. Leia pulls him in, letting him nestle under her chin. She begins to rock him again. 

“Ben, sometimes dreams show us scary things. But they’re not real,” she continues, pressing his hand into her own. “See? I’m here. I’m real. You can count on that.”

“But you and Dad are away so often,” Ben whimpers, turning large, pleading eyes towards her. “I’m tired of being stuck here _alone_ while Threepio teaches me the difference between a salad fork and a fish fork. I just want to _be_ with you.”

Leia can’t help but chuckle at her husband and son’s mutual dismissiveness towards silverware. But Ben’s words nudge at her. He’s right - her responsibilities as a senator have definitely been taking her away for longer periods of time lately. Not as much as Han and his missions, but clearly enough that Ben has been affected by it. Not for the first time, she feels a twinge of guilt for her hypocrisy towards Han earlier. Turning her head to look out the window, she surveys the night sky. The curtains of Ben’s bedchamber have been drawn back, and the sickle moon can still be seen - barely. Leia bends her head to meet her son’s eye.

“Sweetheart,” she says gently, “you have to understand that even when those voices in our heads tell us bad things, they aren’t true. Even when we’re not around, Dad and I are here for you, and we love you - right up to the moon, and beyond.”

Ben is silent, and he doesn’t meet her gaze. The energy around him is quieter, but there is still a current of tension pulsing around him. Leia shifts her position on the bed so that they can both look out the window.

“Do you remember the Alderaanian lullaby I used to sing to you every night? When you look up at the moon, that is your reminder that even when we’re apart, we will always be with you.”

“I guess so,” Ben mumbles with a shrug that instantly reminds her of Han. Clearly the darkness that had haunted his dreams still haunted him now. “But the moon changes, Mom. Even now, it’s barely visible. The night has almost swallowed it. And in a few nights, it will be _gone_.”

Leia begins to stroke his curls again, gently unfurling the tangles she finds there as she answers him. “But the moon isn’t gone forever, Ben. It will come back to its full shape when we wait patiently for it. We can choose to _despair_ , or choose to _hope_ that things will turn out okay. Remember what I’ve said about hope? It’s like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it…”

“You never make it through the night,” a gravelly voice says behind them.

Turning around, Leia can see Han leaning against the doorframe, still in his regular clothing. _I guess you couldn’t sleep either…_

Leia smiles and reaches out for her husband, and in two steps he has crossed the room and laced his fingers with her own, his other hand coming to rest on Ben’s shoulder in a gentle, yet reassuring grip. Ben leans his cheek against the warmth of his father’s knuckles and lets out the breath he’d been holding. A sigh of relief that they’re here together.

“I don’t like it when you guys fight,” he whispers, one hand coming up to tug his father closer. “It tears us all apart.”

“I know, kid,” Han murmurs, the small bed dipping under his added weight as he sits beside Leia. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” says Leia, and she flashes a sad smile towards her husband, which he returns. Even though Han does not have the Force, she can feel the mutual connection between them click into place. A silent truce. An apology.

For a few quiet moments, there is just the three of them, huddled together on Ben’s too-small bed, breathing each other in.

“You know, maybe that lullaby would do us all some good,” Leia says at last, biting back a yawn. “Do you want me to sing it, Ben?”

Ben nods in assent, allowing himself to be disentangled from the embrace and tucked back under the covers. Leia sits over him, one hand still clasped in Han’s. She begins to sing in her husky alto the same haunting melody that she had hummed earlier:

_“Mirrorbright, shines the moon, its glow as soft as an ember_

_When the moon is mirrorbright, take this time to remember_

_Those you have loved but are gone_

_Those who kept you so safe and warm_

_The mirrorbright moon lets you see_

_Those who have ceased to be_

_Mirrorbright shines the moon, as fires die to their embers_

_Those you loved are with you still -_

_The moon will help you remember.”_

The Force thrums gently, as though it approves of the melody. Ben’s eyelids flutter with exhaustion, and he exhales deeply as his parents silently pad out of the room. 

The door is shut behind them, so _gently_ , as though it were made of glass.

_____

Sleep does not come easily to Ben, even though his bones ache with tiredness. It is the darkest hour before dawn. 

The Force rumbles darkly around him and he stiffens, his fingers digging into the mattress. 

A Voice whispers to him in deep, sinister tones.

**_They’ll leave you one day, boy. You know it’s only a matter of time. And it will be your fault._ **

“No, it’s not true!” Ben gasps tremulously. “Leave me _alone_!”

**_You’re not alone, child. You have me. They don’t understand you like I do. They can’t be there for you like I can._ **

Gooseflesh ripples across Ben’s arms, and he dives under the bedclothes. 

“No! _Please!”_ he begs. “Go _away_!” There is a pressure on his temples, as though some heavy weight were closing in around him. If Ben didn’t know any better, the Voice seems to chuckle - a harsh, jarring sound that contains no real mirth.

**_I’m always with you. You can’t hide, boy. Not from me._ **

Even so, the throbbing sensation at Ben’s temples fades away at last, and he is alone with his thoughts once more. He scrambles out of bed and races to the window, craning his neck to peer at the sky. The sickle moon has faded completely.

Ben leans against the wall, allowing his body to crumple to the floor. Wrapping his arms around himself, he begins to hum the Alderaanian lullaby under his breath as the tears begin to fall once more. 

The Voice was right. He can’t hide. The Voice is with him. He’s not alone, and it _terrifies_ him.

The Force _shudders_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand we have lift-off! Writing little Ben brings me so much joy, but also tears because life has not been kind to him. :(
> 
> Also, in this scene I wanted to delve into some of the inner workings of Han and Leia's marriage, as well as their relationship with Ben before things really headed south. My understanding of the canon is that Han and Leia loved each other very much, but often clashed, particularly due to their conflicting backgrounds and lifestyles. And while I do not believe that they were solely to blame for Ben's eventual fall to the dark, it sounds plausible that a sensitive soul like Ben would be deeply affected by the tempestuous nature of their marriage, on top of all the Force-related stuff going on. Poor baby. :(
> 
> The 'Mirrorbright' lullaby is canon: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mirrorbright_(song)
> 
> Come and say hi to me on my tumblr: https://ruinofsilver.tumblr.com/


	2. The Scavenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl, a droid, and quite a lot of shooting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I'm so sorry for the hundred-year delay on updating! The past few months have certainly been A TIME what with COVID-19 and all, but I'm finally getting back into the swing of things and hopefully there won't be such a long wait between chapters anymore. *fingers crossed*
> 
> This chapter picks up twenty-two years after the events of the previous chapter. Here we are introduced to Rey, who is pretty badass, and another Star Wars character who is also pretty badass. ;)
> 
> This chapter follows a lot of the same beats and dialogue as Episode 1 of The Mandalorian. Definitely one of the best shows ever, so I couldn't resist paying tribute to it!
> 
> There are some descriptions of physical violence and death of minor characters. Nothing too graphic, but something to keep in mind.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to my awesome beta, Tigerine, for her insightful feedback and advice. <3
> 
> I would love to know what y'all think of this chapter!
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://ruinofsilver.tumblr.com/).

****

**34 ABY**

It seems rather out of place, this storm-dark fortress nestled between blood-red cliffs. Its master clearly has no qualms about being conspicuous in a harsh world like Arvala-7, whose timid inhabitants prefer to carve their dwellings into the faces of the cliffs themselves. 

There’s nothing timid about this fortress. It almost seems to dare its visitors to enter. The question of who would willingly enter is another matter altogether - that visitor would have to be either incredibly bold or incredibly foolish. Or both.

The stronghold, with its single spire jutting upwards to cut an oblique line through the brittle blue sky, is the home of the sinister warlord known as Vicrul. Few have ever seen the dark lord in broad daylight, but the name of Vicrul is known well by the native inhabitants whose farms he has ravaged, whose children he has enslaved and killed. 

But perhaps today, Vicrul’s bloody rule is about to come to an end. That is, if the girl’s luck hasn’t run out yet.

To the ordinary observer, there’s nothing particularly remarkable about the girl, clambering down the cliff face on her hands and knees. Not that there’s much to see of her - the  _ real _ her, at least. The clothing she wears marks her as desert-born, from the sand-coloured fabric draped about her slim body, to the shapeless bantha-leather boots that sag around the hard muscle of her calves. Most of her body is completely covered, arms wrapped from bicep to wrist with light strips of cloth to protect against sunburn, face shrouded in a headscarf to stop the blowing sand, revealing only a glimpse of dark eyes peeking through. 

But in spite of the soft, bland fabrics of her desert garb; in spite of the leanness to her frame that tells the story of many nights spent in hunger; in spite of the fact that she’s little more than a  _ child,  _ barely twenty - there is a hard set to her shoulders, a sharp glint in her eyes. To assume she is ‘soft’ would be a serious error in judgement. And there’s nothing soft about the metal staff strapped to her back, or the blaster at her hip.

There is something of the loth-cat in the way she moves as she picks her way carefully down the escarpment, coming to a crouching position on a ledge that allows her a bird’s-eye-view of the fortress. She pulls a small pair of binoculars out of her satchel, scanning the courtyard and the walls surrounding it. The vision is a little glitchy, and she slaps the binoculars with the heel of her hand to sharpen the focus. 

The twin telescopes can pick out the dark shapes of armoured guards, their faces hidden by helmets, positioned strategically within the courtyard and along the walls. The fortress is not overly populated, and she wonders briefly if it would be better to wait until nightfall before trying to infiltrate the walls.

Another dark shape seems to be making its way towards the front gate. A tall, lean shape - taller than any human. It moves with quick, mechanical steps, a little awkward in its momentum. It’s difficult to see through the old binoculars and the fading light of the afternoon sun, but there appears to be a pair of blasters strapped to its sides. 

In another life, not so very long ago, the girl’s days had been spent stripping derelict spacecraft and machinery for parts in return for food rations. A scavenger, she had been called, which was little more than indentured labour. From the ages of five to eighteen, she had worked for Unkar Plutt, a hulking mountain of a Crolute with giant hands that looked like slabs of raw meat. The memory of how hard those hands could slap still causes the girl to wince.

Her line of work has shifted in the last two years, but she can still rattle off the mechanical intricacies of almost any ship, speeder, or droid. From the time she was a small child, wires and metal have been her constant companions. A habitual tinkerer, she built her first speeder at the age of twelve, and her own ship, an Empire-era  _ Razor Crest _ , has been modified to allow for swifter transport. It stands to reason that she knows exactly what sort of droid this is, striding with grim purpose towards the fortress entrance. Class 4, IG-series assassin. A bounty droid.

_ Oh,  _ hell  _ no. _

A bounty droid means competition. An intruder. The girl scowls, teeth clenched with frustration. Her plan must be reworked. But then again, she’s spent most of her life salvaging broken things and repurposing the pieces into something different. She can make do. 

Making. Doing. Surviving, but not really living. That has been the sum of Rey’s existence, the years passing her by like dust in the wind while she waits for her life to begin.

Rey knows about waiting most of all.

  
  


_____

  
  


By the time Rey has reached the bottom of the cliff, the droid has stopped at the gate. She can see a cluster of about a dozen masked guards gathering around the droid. As she draws closer, crouching behind a rock, she can hear the guards asking for the droid’s purpose here, and the droid’s own voice. The IG-unit speaks not in Binary but Basic, albeit in a clipped monotone devoid of anything resembling human emotion.

_ “I am IG-11 of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild. I have been sent to capture the asset known as Vicrul alive. Sub-paragraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset _ .”

A moment passes, a heartbeat. Some of the guards scoff amongst themselves.

“The hell you are, metalhead,” one growls, reaching for his blaster as two more step around behind the droid, surrounding it. But there is no time for blasters to be drawn before IG-11 opens fire, its torso turning a full circle as the guards are mowed down around it. It’s over in about thirty seconds. 

The droid sheaths its blasters and continues through the open gate. No guards meet it in the courtyard; they must have holed up as soon as the shooting started.

_ “Sub-paragraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset _ ,” the droid repeats.

Taking a deep breath, Rey sprints for the gate, cocking her own blaster. There’s no way she’s letting some metalhead rob her of this opportunity, even if there is currently only a half-baked plan in her head. She’s  _ making do. _

“IG-unit! Stand down!” she hisses.

The droid’s only response is to whip its torso around and fire without preamble. Rey dives for cover, thankful that her reflexes have not let her down yet, even though she’s shaking like a leaf.

“I’m in the Guild!” she blurts out, moving cautiously towards the IG-unit with her hands raised in what she hopes is a non threatening gesture. 

_ “You are a Guild member?” _ the droid asks, the red pinpoints of its sensor reminding her of a pair of beady eyes, staring her down. Rey swallows, meeting its gaze with her own.

“Yes,” she says, grateful that her voice doesn’t waver. It’s  _ almost _ a truth; she’s  _ almost _ in the Guild. Of course, they don’t know she exists yet. This job is supposed to change that. She shakes off the uncomfortable thought that an almost-truth is the same as a lie. She may be a scavenger, but lying was never something she was proud of doing - not even to a droid. She’s  _ making do… _

_ “I thought I was the only one on assignment _ ,” IG-11 says, but lowers its weapon.

Rey breathes a sigh of relief, letting her own hands drop to her sides. Droid and girl duck behind a pillar. The courtyard appears deserted.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” she says.  _ Another lie _ . She offers a placating shrug. “So much for the element of surprise.”

The droid considers her with its unblinking gaze. 

_ “Sadly,” _ it says at last,  _ “I must ask for your fob. I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.” _

_ Crap.  _ Rey has no Guild-issued tracking fob on her. She had learned of the Guild’s interest in acquiring Vicrul after seeing the asset’s mugshot on a poster in a Niima Outpost cantina. After some investigation of her own, she had finally found the warlord’s hideout after many dead ends in the wasteland of Arvala-7. Capturing a notorious figure like Vicrul would have been her ticket to a new life. She’s not about to tell IG-11 this, however. She tilts her head up to meet the droid’s stare again.

“Unless I’m mistaken,  _ you _ are empty-handed.”

The droid tilts its own head, almost in contemplation.  _ “This is true.” _

“I have a suggestion.”

_ “Proceed.” _

“We can split the reward.” It’s not ideal, but right now, Rey will take what she can get. How to stop IG-11 from figuring out the truth is another matter, but she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

The droid is silent for a moment, probably calculating the weight of cost and reward.  _ “This is acceptable,” _ it says.

“Great,” says Rey, grinning behind the headscarf. “Let’s regroup out of harm’s way and form a plan.” She lowers to a crouch, peering out from behind the pillar to scan for danger.

_ “I will, of course, receive the reputation merits associated with the mission,” _ says IG-11, joining her.

Rey huffs impatiently. “Can we talk about this later?”

The droid begins to respond, but is interrupted by an explosion of blaster fire above their heads. More masked guards have appeared in the courtyard, advancing towards them from a large steel door. 

“Vicrul’s behind that door, right?” Rey shouts, her voice barely detectable above the roar of gunfire.  _ Why hasn’t he come out? _

_ “Affirmative,” _ IG-11 responds, aiming at the guards and firing in retaliation. Rey fires too, and for a few moments the world is a blur of sparks and smoke. A few guards fall, but the rest start to close in.

_ “It appears we are trapped,” _ says IG-11, and Rey wants to whack the droid with her staff for being so kriffing  _ obvious _ .  _ “I will initiate self-destruct sequencing.” _

“Wait - you’re  _ what? _ ”

_ “Manufacturer's Protocol dictates I cannot be captured,”  _ the droid explains. “ _ I must self-destruct.” _

“Don’t self-destruct!” Rey snaps, feeling the panic rising in her throat. “Here - cover me!” She dives out from behind their hiding place, darting from pillar to pillar while the droid obeys her, its long arms swinging wildly as it returns fire with both blasters. 

_ “I do not know how long I can hold them,” _ the droid says, swivelling its head to see where Rey is.  _ “Wait, what are you doing?”  _ It’s hard to tell, but there might be a faint inflection of panic to its voice, for Rey has passed the door, charging for the big gun in the center of the courtyard. 

“Improvising!” she shouts back, ducking behind the gun as several guards turn their fire towards her.

_ “I will initiate self-destruct!”  _

“ _ Don’t _ self-destruct!” Rey screams, grabbing for the trigger. The kickback threatens to knock the wind out of her, but she clutches the trigger with all her strength as she rotates the barrel towards the guards. The gun sputters as she opens fire, streams of orange flame spewing from the barrel again and again. One by one, the guards collapse. Rey’s ears are ringing as she releases her hold, slumping forward with exhaustion. 

IG-11 emerges from behind the pillar, sheathing its blasters. Human and droid regard each other silently.

_ “Well done,” _ says IG-11. “ _ I will disengage self-destruct initiative.” _

“Good,” Rey replies, inhaling deeply to still the adrenaline coursing through her. “You’re not too bad yourself, for a droid.”

The headscarf has loosened around her face, and there is the flash of a toothy grin as she and her temporary partner make their way for the steel door. 

  
  


_____

The fortress is dimly lit, the passageway barely visible as the unlikely pair move deeper into the shadows. There is no breeze in the dingy corridor, but a shiver still ripples through Rey from head to toe, the hairs on the back of her neck on edge.

“I don’t like it,” she mutters under her breath, keeping her blaster close to her chest. “Why would Vicrul not come out with the guards?”

_ “Vicrul is known to be reclusive,” _ says IG-11 by way of explanation.  _ “Did you not read the Guild’s descriptor of him?” _

Rey exhales softly through her nostrils, grateful that the darkness conceals her nervous expression from the droid’s probing sensor. It would not do for IG-11 to discover her lie now. She wonders, briefly, if droids ever truly experience fear.

After several minutes, the corridor diverges into two separate passageways. Rey pauses, squinting through the darkness, trying to make out any distinctive features. IG-11 is one step ahead of her, its sensor projecting a flickering beam down the hallways.

_ “This way,” _ it says at last, moving towards the passageway on the right. But a strange little shiver has quickened Rey’s pulse. 

“No, to the left,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

_ “How do you know that? What does your fob say?” _

“I don’t know!” Rey hisses. “Just a - a feeling, okay? I can’t explain it, just -”

_ “Let me see your fob,” _ the droid demands, taking a step towards her. 

“No, just -”

_ “Let me see your fob.” _

“No!”

_ “You are not a member of the Guild.” _ It isn’t a question.

“Okay, I’m not, but -”

_ “You lied.” _

“I’m  _ almost _ a member of the Guild!”

_ “Protocol dictates that I cannot align with non-Guild members. Designated assets must only be captured by approved members of the Guild.” _

Rey can feel her temper rising. She stretches herself up on tiptoe to meet the droid’s glare.

“This job,” she hisses through clenched teeth, “was meant to get me  _ into _ the Guild. Don’t you  _ dare _ take this away from me!”

IG-11 does not engage her, swiveling its head to stare down the corridor to the right with what might be grim resolve.

_ “I cannot align with non-Guild members. The bounty is mine by rights. I will capture the asset alone.” _

“We’ll see about that,” Rey snaps, turning towards the left corridor. IG-11 does not respond, and within a few moments its heavy footsteps have carried it down the corridor and out of sight. Rey is left alone at the crossroads, the darkness enveloping her. 

Steeling herself, she begins to creep down the left passageway, blaster gripped tightly in front of her. There are no distinctive features to this corridor; it just keeps going and going, and the only thing keeping Rey from turning back is that odd little quiver in her core, that gentle whisper that beckons her forward. 

She stops in front of a burning torch, its light little more than a glowing ember. She reaches behind her to check that her staff is still strapped behind her and then - 

A huge blade swipes through the darkness in front of her, its owner still shrouded in shadow, just out of her reach. Her heart is in her throat as she springs back with a terrified cry as metal slices across her right bicep, drawing blood. There is the sound of heavy male breathing nearby.

Rey fires blindly into the darkness, backing up against the wall. A faint grunt echoes through the corridor - the stranger has been hit, but not fatally. Probably a glancing blow.

Rey shifts her angle, spinning in a tight circle as she continues to shoot. The blade comes whistling through the smoke-filled air once more, knocking the blaster from Rey’s hand. She can just make out the hulking shape of a humanoid figure stalking towards her, blackclad from head to food, face completely shielded by a metal mask. The same metal mask from the poster in the cantina.

_ Vicrul. _

A voice emanates from the mask, deep and rasping. 

“Be careful with that stick, little girl. Someone might get hurt.”

He continues to stalk towards Rey, brandishing his scythe. But he does not strike her with it, instead hovering a huge gloved hand above her throat. She can feel her throat closing up, a pressure on her windpipe as though he were actually choking her, though his hands have not touched her skin.

“You ready to scream, little girl?” 

Rey doesn’t scream. She  _ can’t _ . But with a burst of wild adrenaline that she cannot explain, she thrusts her staff upwards towards Vicrul’s gut, pushing hard. Vicrul grunts, doubling over in pain, dropping the scythe. He raises his hand again, but before Rey even knows what she’s doing, she smashes the staff across the side of her attacker’s head, dislodging the helmet and sending it clattering to the floor. It’s still too dark to see his face. She can feel the blood pounding in her ears, and something pulsing around her - an energy, a tension that transcends all else. Vicrul raises his hand, lifting Rey off the ground without touch, but before she can be flung into the wall, she cracks the staff over Vicrul’s skull with a sickening  _ thud _ .

The invisible tethers suspending her loosen, and she drops to the floor as Vicrul collapses. Rey sinks to her knees, her lungs constricting as she tries to catch her breath in sobbing gasps. At the sound of feet running towards her, she flinches, but it is only IG-11, running through the darkness towards her. The droid skids to a halt, towering above her, a dark frame outlined by the flickering light of the torch in the wall. But the droid only gives her a perfunctory glance, turning its attention to the figure sprawled out on the floor. 

_ Oh.  _ Vicrul hasn’t moved.

IG-11 does not move or speak for what feels like a very long time.

_ “The asset is dead. You’ve killed him,” _ the droid says at last. Rey doesn’t answer, but scrambles to her feet, reaching for the blaster that had been knocked from her hand.

_ “Sub-section 8 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol dictates that assets must be captured alive unless specifically stated otherwise,” _ IG-11 continues.  _ “According to protocol, any bounty hunter who kills an asset without express permission must be arrested and brought to justice by the Guild.” _

Rey sputters, eyes flashing with fury. “He was trying to  _ strangle _ me! With - with his  _ mind _ ! And it was an accident! I had no idea that my staff would actually  _ kill _ him with one blow.”

_ “Regardless,” _ IG-11 continues, ignoring her,  _ “you must be brought to justice, as a would-be Guild member. I am officially placing you under arrest, and I will escort you back to the Guild headquarters at Nevarro where you will be tried and condemned for the killing of a valuable asset.” _

Rey swallows the lump coming up in her throat, and squares her shoulders as the droid moves towards her. 

“I can’t do that,” she murmurs, almost absently.

_ “Protocol dictates that I must bring you to justice,” _ says the droid, the barrel of one of its blasters poking lightly at Rey’s shoulder to propel her forward.

“I  _ can’t _ go with you,” Rey says, some of the iron coming back into her voice. Before IG-11 can formulate a response, she swings her staff with a guttural cry and cracks it against the droid’s metal cranium with a deafening  _ clang _ . It’s enough to send the droid reeling back into the wall as she makes a run for it, back the way she had come and out into the courtyard. Several times, she’s sure she can hear the droid’s footsteps behind her, but she doesn’t stop, charging back through the entrance and diving behind a boulder. The droid runs straight past her and continues towards the eastern cliff face, the same one she had descended from earlier that day.

Rey groans in frustration before making a dash for the next boulder. The escape route back to the  _ Razor Crest _ will take at least an hour longer now. The droid has not sensed her presence, continuing down a path in the rocks and rounding a bend until it is out of sight. 

As the first of the stars flicker on the twilight horizon, Rey dashes towards the northeast ridge. It’s not the most ideal route back to her ship, but she can adapt. She just hopes that the droid doesn’t realise her plan and follow her. The cut on her arm is crying out for a bacta patch, and she wants nothing more than to get as far away from this place as possible.

  
  


_____

  
  


About two standard hours later, the sky has darkened to an inky midnight blue with the faintest tinge of pink close to the horizon. Rey, gasping and panting, stumbles onto the  _ Razor Crest _ , one hand clamped over the gash on her bicep to stop the bleeding. By some miracle, IG-11 has not appeared.

Slumping down into the pilot’s seat, she makes quick work of mapping coordinates for the Western Reaches before applying the long-awaited bacta patch to her wound. As she fires up the ship and begins take-off, she takes one last look down at the faint outlines of Arvala-7’s grooves and gullies. One last look at her failed attempt at a new beginning.

She had never envisioned returning to her home planet so soon - not after how far she has come. But for now, the backwater desert planet of Jakku is her best chance at hiding out until things calm down, provided that the bounty droid does not follow her. She doubts that anyone would bother to come looking for her on Jakku.  Jakku isn’t the sort of place people come back to.  A nowhere place for a nobody scavenger.

It’s not the path she had expected to take, and it’s certainly not the path she’s thrilled to be taking right now. But she can’t let herself dwell on the matter.

She’s making do.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh IG-11. <3 He might be my favourite non-human Star Wars character, so I had no choice but to include him.
> 
> Next chapter will be Ben-centric, so we'll get to see a few glimpses into what the past twenty-two years have been like for him.
> 
> [Arvala-7](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Arvala-7).
> 
> [Vicrul](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Vicrul).
> 
> [Crolute](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Crolute).
> 
> [Rey's ship](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Razor_Crest) is the same one used by Din Djarin in The Mandalorian!
> 
> [IG-11](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/IG-11).
> 
> [Binary](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Binary) and [Basic](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Galactic_Basic) are two of the most common languages in the galaxy.
> 
> [Bounty Hunters' Guild](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bounty_Hunters%27_Guild).
> 
> [Tracking fob](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tracking_fob).
> 
> [Nevarro](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nevarro).
> 
> [Bacta patch](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bacta_patch).


End file.
